


Sure Touch

by pianoforeplay



Series: Winged!Jared 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jared hurts and Jensen tries to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/43619.html) on 11/27/10.

It takes Jared a few hours to realize he can make the wings retract and a few more after that to figure out how to make them stay that way. The key, he eventually finds, is more mental and emotional than physical. There is some muscle work involved, a gentle clench in the center of his back he can't really explain. But on top of that, he has to relax his mind, has to breathe deep and let go of the anxious knot in his gut. And he has to stay that way, in a state of near Zen-like calm for them to remain nestled away under his skin.

Considering the trauma he's endured already today, staying calm takes some serious effort. Not to mention fighting the residual ache of flexing muscles he never even knew existed. He fucking _hurts_.

The hours pass in a haze of pain and confusion. He barely eats, only managing to choke down a few bites of some leftover pizza when Jensen practically forces him to do so. After, he collapses onto his bed, face down and limbs splayed in every direction. He feels exhausted down to the bone, wings spread and resting limp across his bare back. They shift with his every breath, rising and falling in tandem, soft and silky against his skin.

He senses the minute Jensen walks in, footsteps quiet on the carpet before the bed dips under his weight.

Groaning softly, Jared turns his head away. Jensen's been with him all day, right at his side, offering encouraging words and gentle advice. And, while Jared's definitely grateful for the support, he's feeling more and more pathetic at the same time. Embarrassed by his own neediness. Small and stupid and downright freakish.

But he still can't bring himself to pull away when Jensen touches him, a light brush of his fingers along the apex of his right wing that sends a shiver straight down to his toes.

"Hey. How you holdin' up?"

Jensen's voice is quiet, his hands still smoothing over Jared's wing, squeezing gently over the ridge and then sliding higher to where it meets Jared's skin. Jared knows it's meant to be soothing, but it's doing nothing but make the blood under his skin warm and his nerves buzz.

Swallowing against it, Jared rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Just great," he says, voice dull and oozing with self-pity. "I'm fuckin' _Tinkerbell_ , Jen, how do you think I'm holdin' up?"

Jensen's hand slides upward, curling in a gentle squeeze over his upper arm and then resting there. "N'ah, you're too big to be Tinkerbell," he says. Like that's supposed to make him feel better.

Jared only grumbles a response, going for petulant, but it morphs into something else completely when Jensen's hand slides from his arm to his other wing, the touch more exploratory than deliberate, soft and curious. Almost teasing.

"Jen," he whimpers, more a warning than anything else as his hips rock into the mattress and his wings stretch and spread instinctively, presenting themselves to Jensen's touch.

This part he hasn't been able to control yet, this overwhelming sensitivity. It's like every nerve in either wing goes straight to his cock, every brush of cool or warm air deliciously pleasurable, every touch blindingly arousing.

"Shhh," Jensen says, but he doesn't stop, continuing down to the curve of the forewing and then in and down, fingertips grazing over the delicate inner webbing, each faint touch setting Jared's every nerve on fire. He's hard already, can feel his dick thick and heavy between his thighs, trapped against the mattress and, thankfully, hidden away in his lounge pants.

A part of him wants to protest, wants to shove Jensen away and rip the pair of goddamn glittery fuckers off his back, leave nothing behind but two bloody stumps. At least those he could hide away behind a t-shirt. No one would have to know. As it is, he can't so much as go outside without everyone seeing what a freak he's become. He has no idea how he's supposed to have a life anymore, much less a career. They've already had to cancel shooting for the day, something they've never done _ever_ , not even when Jensen had come down with a stomach flu and spent seven hours solid puking his guts out. Jared doesn't want to know how badly this one day is going to screw up the schedule or the budget, doesn't want to know how much shit he's sure to be in with the network. It's not like any of it matters anymore anyway. The second they knock down his door and see the sparkling _growths_ shooting out his back, they'll ship him off to some underground government facility in the middle of a desert somewhere and that'll be the end of it.

But then Jensen's fingers graze the bottom curl and slide upward, and all Jared can think about is how badly he doesn't want Jensen to ever stop.

It's embarrassing and seriously pathetic, but he's beyond trying to fight it anymore. He aches all over, the stress of the day leaving him completely drained, and all he can do is turn his face into the pillow, close his eyes and moan. Moan like it's the single best thing he's ever felt in his life because it just might be.

Clearly interpreting the sound as encouragement, Jensen doesn't stop for even a second. His hand moves from the root of one wing to the other, squeezing gently before smoothing over the delicate bone.

Jared doesn't know how it's possible, but he can feel the muscles in his shoulders relaxing under Jensen's ministrations even as every other part of his body is crackling with electricity. His hands clench in the sheets beneath him and he rocks his hips again, his pants providing not nearly enough friction, but it's the best he can manage. For now, it's enough.

"Hey, it's okay," Jensen murmurs then, voice still low and soothing. Jared feels the bed shift and he's too far out of it to realize what Jensen's doing until Jensen's already there, warm thighs bracketing either side of Jared's hips, weight holding Jared down. Grounding him.

The knowledge sparks a whole different sort of heat within him, more familiar but no less damning and he keeps his face turned away as he struggles to hold still.

Jensen works in silence, massaging the delicate bone and film of Jared's wings almost reverently, smoothing over ridge and webbing, applying a gentle pressure that's never too much and also never quite enough. Slowly the pleasure begins to even out, dulling from bright, sharp jabs to a smoldering pulse low in his belly. He's still blindingly hard, still moaning and whimpering with every touch, but there's no longer a pathetic, desperate need behind it. Just a quiet want.

He almost doesn't register the moment Jensen's hands move from his wings to his bare skin; it simply feels like one pleasure melting into another.

It's only when he hears a hushed, "Ohhh," that he realizes Jensen's palms are flat against his back, rubbing smooth and unobstructed along his flesh. Blunt fingers press into muscle and thumbs dig in close to his spine, sliding down and then up again, spanning across his shoulder blades before ghosting over the sore nubs where his wings have receded. Every touch feels slow and deliberate, gradually reducing him to little more than a puddle of utter contentment, relaxed down to his very core, mind at ease for the first time all day.

Except there's still something just a little off, like he's missing something he can't quite explain.

Before he can dedicate too much attention to it, however, he feels Jensen's weight shift to bear down on him gently before a waft of warm air brushes the back of his neck. It's followed by the press of soft lips and wet tongue and suddenly every fiber of Jared's being springs tight and hot, skin splitting anew as his wings spring free under Jensen's hands. It's like baring a live wire: his breath catching high in his chest as he breaks out into a sweat, body and mind both reeling with sensation. In one split second he's been thrust violently to the brink, teetering dangerously right on the edge, his dick rock hard and leaking in his pants, eyes clenched muscles trembling as he desperately struggles to keep control.

Above him, a low, quiet rumble works through the chaos of sensation, penetrating the haze slowly to draw him back into himself. It takes a few more seconds to realize it's the sound of Jensen's laughter, quiet and soothing as he kneads at Jared's wings slow and sure.

"So," he says, tone amused as his lips and breath brush the tip of Jared's right ear. "Guess we're gonna have to keep working on that."

And before Jared can consider a response, before he can even so much as think to feel embarrassed, Jensen curls his fingers over the upper ridges of his wings and _squeezes_. Jared jolts with a high, cut off moan and shatters, a sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced ripping free of his very core, leaving him breathless and wild and utterly, completely and irrevocably undone.

 **end.**


End file.
